


Untitled Resolutions

by hystericalwomannovelist



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, resolutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalwomannovelist/pseuds/hystericalwomannovelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no reason to rush, he said. We have all the time in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Resolutions

**Author's Note:**

> For NaNoWriMo 2012 I felt like playing with my Janeway/Chakotay feelings (recently revived). I gave it up quickly, but I still felt like posting some of it, as I'm not sure I'll ever give more structure to these thoughts as an actual work of fan fiction. Rough and unedited, as any NaNo that didn't make it past day one. I described it as "doodling with words," and that's all it is, really. Words and feelings and wishful thinking.
> 
> I might write more, but I'm marking this as unfinished and abandoned for now. But there's no plot to become invested in--to the reader it should be a lark. It's based around "Resolutions" so you know the drill. It would have expanded before and after, but you won't miss that, I'm sure. 
> 
> Hopefully you'll enjoy it in some way. And if you do see my writing around this fandom again, it won't be nearly so mannered as this. :)

There's no reason to rush, he said. We have all the time in the world.

It makes no difference, she said: once I let go, I fall all the way down.

She did not let go all at once, but the moment she did, it was as she said. In that last long moment, she stood, never letting his hand drop from hers. For the last time, perhaps, she held all control. Letting go, ultimately, meant ceding control. The ugly truth of it. The ugly truth that she ever wanted it--clung to it?

It was not giving control to him; it was banishing control--from their lives, from their language. Control would become meaningless, if she fell, if she let go.

Life was different now. It was not a choice for her to make, but a reality for her to acknowledge. Control was gone. They maintained the edifice. To get through each day; to hold on to a sense of self and other; to believe, to understand. Control and order, that was life before. The fact of their presence here meant control was already past: an illusion maintained, if indeed it ever existed.

Not over their circumstances but between them, perhaps, control could be preserved. She could, if she insisted, retain the upper hand. He would, he confessed, follow her to the ends of the earth–- lower-case; where were they, anyhow? A world of their own making, or a prison. They could decide.

She would decide first, and then, perhaps, they. That was the trick. That was the loss, and the gain.

Standing before him, one hand entwined in his, then the other, a reaching out. The moment was infinite, definite. The moment ended all that came before, gave reality to all that could come after. An instant to make real what was a moment ago an impossibility, and what did it take? a kiss?

She laughed at the absurdity of it; her laughter, he knew, meant one of two fates. He would go gladly to either. To him, was it not a gain either way? His life would revolve around hers, enslaved or an equal. It was not the life he had always wanted. It was the life he had wanted in the two years he had known her.

And still he would not have recognized his own desires until now, just now, faced with this new life. He gave up control more easily, perhaps, having less of it to start with; or, perhaps, more readily bowing to fate. Not a cowardly or indifferent philosophy. It was hard-won. Calmly, bravely, he regarded the hand life had dealt. The woman he had been thrown together with, against his will. Some trick. The woman he would have chosen from a million.

Would she always have control, in some sense, because she had chosen, and he had waited? That she could cling to, and that he could give her. His last real sacrifice to give her more. He gave more; he had more to give? One last secret between them, before all the others were told. The control was his and he gave it freely.

In the next moment and all that followed after, she breathed his name and the words, meaningless, requisite. All ended, all began. She let go. She fell. He caught her.


End file.
